Antiagon Fire ip-7

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  After several bites, Quaeryt had to agree with Nykaal’s assessment. Decent and filling, but not much better.

  “I must admit that I don’t fully understand why Lord Bhayar would … allow…” Nykaal did not finish his words.

  “Why he would risk so many imagers in one command when there are so few of them?” suggested Quaeryt.

  “Or why he would hazard his sister in marriage to an imager?” added Vaelora softly. “Or dispatch her as an envoy to a land that might become an enemy?”

  “You must admit that those are questions many would ask.” Nykaal sipped from the crystal brandy snifter engraved with the letter “M.”

  Quaeryt finished a mouthful of potatoes, then laughed softly. “No. They’re questions many might wish to ask, but few would dare.”

  “I would judge that you have thought through such questions,” said the captain blandly.

  “More than a few times.” Quaeryt glanced to Vaelora, who gave the barest of nods.

  Nykaal smiled. “I think you have provided one answer already.”

  “That is possible,” replied Quaeryt. “I will offer another. While imagers can have a great impact on a battle, Bhayar observed years ago that no imager, no matter how talented, who was sent out into combat without other imagers for support survived for any length of time.” Since no one ever sent more than one, none ever survived. “He also observed that no single imager who has been involved in the daily affairs in the court of a ruler has managed to long survive.”

  “And?” pressed Nykaal gently.

  “When I came close to dying several times in the Tilboran uprising, he decided it might be best to find other imagers to work with me. His willingness to try such a strategy has thus far been effective. Part of that also suggests another strength of Lord Bhayar. He is willing to try new strategies and take reasonable risks, but not exceedingly unreasonable ones.”

  “He has also followed the example of his sire as well,” mused Nykaal, “in that he requires as much of himself and his family as of others.”

  “If not more,” said Quaeryt.

  “I doubt that he requires as much of himself as you do of yourself, Commander, not if a fraction of what I’ve heard about you has any truth to it at all.”

  “There are always exceptions, Captain,” murmured Vaelora.

  “You are both exceptions, but is that not why he trusts you with great responsibility?”

  That, and because Bhayar has few alternatives. “I observed years ago that those who are unwilling to undertake tasks which involve danger should not be trusted with great responsibility. Nor should those who go out of their way to seek and surmount danger.” Quaeryt smiled.

  “One might suggest that you have sought danger, Commander.”

  Quaeryt shook his head. “I have not shied from danger, when necessary, but I have tried to accomplish what was necessary with the least risk possible. Avoiding risk for the sake of avoiding it may well create more risk in the long run, while accomplishing little.”

  “You could have destroyed those ships, I think.”

  “Even if we could have, to what end? The effort required might well have endangered one or more of the imagers. Would you have lost the Montagne to destroy all five of theirs?”

  “Hardly. I would not willingly lose one of the two great warships Lord Bhayar has for five ships, not when Aliaro has a score or more.”

  “Exactly,” replied Quaeryt.

  “Yet you are accompanied by a full regiment, four imagers, and Lord Bhayar’s sister on this mission to Khel at a time when Bovaria has not yet been fully subdued.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “It would have been better to have left earlier, but that was not possible. It is preferable to make offers before the positions of others rulers have been allowed to set.”

  “I may be less than optimistic, Commander, Lady, but the Pharsi have always struck a hard bargain. They know that Bhayar cannot send his armies into Khel with winter upon us.”

  “That’s true. That is why he sent us.”

  Nykaal laughed softly, if somewhat uneasily. “You are suggesting…?”

  “I’m suggesting nothing. Bhayar would prefer a willing agreement to a forced conquest. If the Khellan High Council will not agree to terms, then, within a few years, there will be a forced conquest. That is why we are going to Khel.”

  “Your wine is indeed quite lovely,” said Vaelora sweetly. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your kindness in sharing it with us. That kindness is particularly noteworthy when such a splendid vintage comes dear, and from a family vineyard.”

  Nykaal froze for just a moment, then blinked … and laughed heartily. “You’re most gentle, Lady Vaelora. For that I am thankful. It is a good vintage, and I’m more than happy to share it. The memories I will have of sharing meals with you will be far more dear than the wine.” He lifted his goblet. “If you would tell me how Extela fared after the eruption…”

  “Of course.” Vaelora smiled warmly. “You must know that I spent much of my youth there, as did Bhayar and our sisters…”

  More than a glass later, after cheerful conversation, Nykaal slipped away, and the steward reappeared briefly to remove platters and the remnants of the meal.

  When they were alone, Quaeryt turned to Vaelora. “Do you think I was too indirect? Or the opposite?”

  “I think you conveyed what he needed to understand without actually saying it.”

  “What? That at times five imagers represent more power than regiments, especially when there aren’t enough ships to carry those regiments?”

  “You made that point.”

  “You emphasized it with your sweet comments.” Quaeryt grinned.

  “People want to know what is happening. They also like to hear what they wish. That has not changed since the time of Rholan, and long before.” She paused. “You are like Rholan, in some ways … if the book is correct.”

  “Oh? I’m like Rholan?”

  “Let me see if I can find that section of the book.” Vaelora hurried over to the built-in drawers on the right side of the captain’s bunk, opening the narrow top one and extracting the small leatherbound volume.

  Quaeryt waited while Vaelora paged through the book.

  “Here … listen to this.”

  “Do I want to?”

  “Dearest … listen…”

  Quaeryt decided further comments and protests were futile. He nodded for her to begin.

  Still standing, Vaelora cleared her throat, then put out a hand against the bulkhead to steady herself as the Montagne pitched, then rolled slightly. She began to read.

  “Rholan’s insights often conflicted with not only the views of the powerful, but at times with folk sayings and what some have called common sense. One saying that incensed him was the Montagne fatalism that ‘rivers run where they will,’ or the observation that rivers run free. In a homily in the small mountain town of Yanaes, according to reports from those who were there, he went so far as to call both sayings complete rubbish. He pointed out that water or rivers always seek the easiest path downhill, and that was why the waters often dropped great distances over falls. He went on to say that rivers were a poor example of guidance or freedom that, if anything, the Nameless provided their twisting courses as an example of how following the easiest path not only often did not take one where one wished, but usually took longer and put one through needless falls and trials. Needless to say, he was never asked back to Yanaes.”

  “You see?” Vaelora closed the book, but remained holding it.

  “Well … it is true that no one wants to ask me back.” He grinned.

  “Dearest…”

  “That’s why we need to create a scholarium for imagers. That way, we’ll always have some place where we can return when the invitations run out … which they will rather quickly once Bhayar establishes his reign and there’s a lasting peace.”

  “Lasting peace?”

  “Well … for a few hundred years, anyway.” />
  Vaelora frowned.

  “It’s simple enough. Once he unifies Lydar, there won’t be anyone to fight here, and no one’s likely to create a fleet big enough to ferry an army large enough to attack…”

  “You are an optimist.”

  “Why not? It’s less depressing, and it might even come true.”

  “Have you told him that he’s supposed to unify Lydar?”

  “Of course not. That way, when it’s done, he can tell himself that he never intended to conquer the entire continent. No one will believe him, but they never believe rulers in those matters anyway, and once it’s done, no one will dare to complain.”

  “Enough of your grand dreams, dearest.”

  “Plans, not dreams.”

  “Don’t plan too elaborately. Things never work out as planned.”

  “That’s why I just keep the goal in mind. I can always change the plans.”

  She shook her head.

  Quaeryt wasn’t certain whether her expression was one of resignation, concern, or veiled amusement. She’s entitled to all three.

  29

  While the weather cooled over the next few days, and the wind shifted until it blew largely out of the northeast, the Telaryn convoy saw few other ships, and no warships or raiders. Late on Vendrei morning, Vaelora and Quaeryt stood on the upper sterncastle deck, close by the starboard railing, where they could see in the distance to the north the rolling hills southeast of Kherseilles. The Gulf waters were rougher than they had been, and Vaelora kept one hand on the railing as they talked.

  “There aren’t many towns or ports along the coast here, are there?” asked Vaelora.

  “There are more than a few fishing villages, but that’s about it. The southern hills here are rugged. They don’t get much rain, and there aren’t many streams. From what I’ve heard, the lands to the north and west of Ephra don’t grow much of anything.”

  “Didn’t Kharst do something … you told me about the Pharsi…”

  “Oh … according to Major Arion, years ago he drove the Pharsi traders out of Laaryn and marched them to the barrens north of Mantes. Most of them just kept going and crossed the Groral and settled in Khel. That was part of what started the first war against the Pharsi…”

  “You told me. That was the one they won, and then Kharst sent all sorts of blankets and goods used by people who’d died of the Red Death.” Vaelora shook her head. “Compared to what he did to others, he had an easy death.”

  Easy? Freezing to death?

  “Dearest, you suffer more over what you did than Kharst ever felt from what you did to him. And that was the most he likely ever suffered.”

  From the corner of his eye, Quaeryt caught sight of Nykaal crossing the deck toward them. “Here comes the captain.”

  Vaelora turned and the two of them waited.

  “It’s been a pleasant voyage the last few days,” offered Nykaal, with an easy smile. “Well … except for that squall the other afternoon, but it didn’t last long. Didn’t even break any sheets or rip any sails.”

  “How much longer to port?” asked Quaeryt.

  “If the wind holds, a glass before sunset.”

  “I’ve not been in Kherseilles in more than ten years,” began Quaeryt. “The port had ample piers then, but…”

  “There are still ample piers. Not much else, I’d wager.” Nykaal offered a crooked smile. “I doubt that we’ll need to anchor offshore.”

  “Oh?”

  “Kharst seized or burned all the local trading vessels. And the Bovarians … or Aliaro…”

  “Likely more berths than even we’ll need, then?”

  “That’s the word.” With a nod, the captain headed back toward the helm.

  After Nykaal returned to his position near the helmsman, Vaelora stepped closer to Quaeryt and said in a low voice, “I don’t like it when you talk as if I’m not here. A few words of explanation wouldn’t have cost you much.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. I didn’t mean…” Once again, Quaeryt was reminded that while Vaelora was a very bright woman, her upbringing had left large gaps in her knowledge. The problem is that you don’t know where they are, and if you overexplain everything you come off as patronizing and make her look stupid. “Because Kherseilles was a Khellan port, it’s on the west side of the Groral River. It used to be as big a port as Eshtora and Ouestan, and all the trade in eastern Khel came down the river to Kherseilles. They even built some ships here from the timber that they floated down on the spring runoff. But when Kharst conquered Khel…” Quaeryt shrugged.

  “All the traders were Pharsi, and they were killed and their ships burned or taken?”

  Quaeryt nodded.

  “And there weren’t many people left to trade?”

  “Between those who were killed and those who fled, I’d doubt it. That’s another reason why I’ve been worrying about whether we can gather enough mounts for both first company and Eleventh Regiment.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t very well refuse to come on the grounds that your brother couldn’t have made sufficient arrangements for mounts.”

  “He wouldn’t have taken that well.” She paused. “There isn’t a Bovarian town on the east side of the river? One where…?”

  “There was. It was never a port. Suppose it’s still there, but there’s not much growing in the coastal hills between Kherseilles and Ephra.”

  “You just said that. I don’t need repetition. Once is enough.”

  “Would you like some biscuits?”

  “I can find them myself.” Vaelora left Quaeryt standing there.

  He knew better than to follow her immediately. He should have realized that she needed to eat. She gets cross when she’s hungry, far more than she used to. He smiled wryly. Another aspect of her being with child that he hadn’t known about until it happened.

  Over the next three glasses, Quaeryt spent a great deal of time being pleasant and thoughtful, and making sure Vaelora had frequent biscuits, so that by fourth glass, she was again speaking warmly to him when they returned to the upper deck to watch as the Montagne neared the harbor under minimal sail.

  The two long stone piers nearest the river were empty, except for a small fishing shack that was tied almost at the seawall at the base of the pier. Where the warehouses had stood along the stone boulevard behind the seawall and facing the harbor, all that remained were the blackened stone foundations, stretching for almost half a mille. The two smaller piers, the ones that had been timber, had burned down to blackened and weathered pilings. The third stone pier, farther west, was the only one that showed any activity, with a coastal schooner near the end on the east side, and a single-masted craft perhaps twice the size of the Montagne’s pinnace.

  For all that he thought he was prepared to see what had happened to the harbor, Quaeryt could only look. There’s no way we’ll have enough mounts … not with the destruction here.

  “Kharst did all that?” asked Vaelora.

  “I don’t know. It could have been Aliaro. Once the Khellans were defeated, he could have landed a few ships and fired the entire place. Or it could have been Kharst’s men, or factors or officers acting for him. They both wouldn’t want an open port here, and in a few years, the Pharsi survivors could have been back trading. They will be, anyway. It’ll just take longer.”

  “They all hate the Khellans that much?”

  “I doubt it. Just business. The Pharsi are better traders. So, when the Pharsi couldn’t do anything, whoever it was fired the entire port. If they left the warehouses and all the piers, in months some trading would have resumed.”

  “Lines out!”

  As seamen scurried about, sails reefed in, and as Nykaal issued the orders to ease the big vessel up to the stone pier, Quaeryt looked beyond the harbor. From what he could tell, most of the shops and dwellings farther from the water and the river looked to be largely intact, although he did see one or two that had been burned out. There were people on the streets … but only a fraction of
the numbers he recalled from when he’d ported at Kherseilles so many years before.

  We’re supposed to find mounts here? He couldn’t help but keep thinking about that.

  30

  By the time all six ships were secured along the stone piers at Kherseilles, the sun had dropped behind the hills to the west of the port. Although Quaeryt had sent out Zhelan with a squad to look into whether any factors or stables had mounts available … or if anyone knew about Bhayar’s purported arrangements, the two stables nearest the harbor knew nothing about such an arrangement-as Quaeryt had feared.

  By the time Zhelan had returned, Quaeryt had decided against searching out suppliers of horses-or whoever might have the mounts that Bhayar had purportedly arranged for-until Samedi morning. He only told Vaelora that Zhelan had been unable to locate the mounts and that further efforts would have to wait.

  Samedi morning dawned cool and foggy enough that when Quaeryt peered out one of the stateroom portholes he could barely make out the ships at the next pier. “It’s a good thing we made port last night. We’d still be out in the Gulf waiting for the fog to burn off.”

  “You didn’t want to talk about the horses last night,” ventured Vaelora as she pulled on riding trousers.

  Neither did you. “There wasn’t much to talk about. Zhelan couldn’t find anyone who knew anything. We both worried about that from the time we left Variana. But Bhayar brushed off my questions … and you know how he can be.”

  “Yes, dear. I do know. I grew up with him.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have much fortune in finding mounts for Eleventh Regiment.”

  “What will you do?”

  “What comes most unnaturally to me. Wait to see what happens while Zhelan looks into finding mounts. We might as well have breakfast.” He walked to the hatch to the passageway, where he tugged at the bellpull.

  “You didn’t ask if I was ready.”

  “I’m sorry. You looked ready.”

  “You might have asked.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m worried.”